


Wolves of the Empire

by Spylace



Series: Arcadia [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Mirror Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Bestiality, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Mirror Universe, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spylace/pseuds/Spylace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the other side of the mirror, Jim and Bones are two shifters without a pack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolves of the Empire

**Author's Note:**

> Old work, repost from LJ.

He’s known for a while that there is something in the woods. A stray—Frank lies fluently, eyes wary of any mischief on his part. But the scent is too rich to be that of a mere beast’s, too complicated to be that of a dog. A passing mental impression cements what he has suspected since the crack of gunfire two nights past. There is another shifter in the area.

The shifter is new to these parts, looks, sounds, smells and feels wonderfully different. He lays pinned to the ground, all four limbs caught in a steel-jawed mechanism Jim lifted from the farmhouse. He growls when he sees him, a sliver of moonlight caught on his teeth. Jim smells the rich, iron-coated smell of blood in the air. Not all of it is from the flayed ankles.

His inner wolf practically salivates. He knows that it must show through his eyes when the stranger answers with a jerky glare of his own. The strange shifter is a rich blend of ochre and black, a trail of gold lining his eyes like mascara and the saliva-soaked chin. The wolves of Iowa are always light in color; blonds with silvery manes predominate, greys and tans with occasional off-white thrown in. The stranger isn’t an alpha, but he is close. And even trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey he is magnificent to behold.

“I’ve seen you around before.” Jim starts as a manner of introducing himself. “Thought I’d say ‘hi’.”

‘This how you say ‘hi’?’

The mental voice is gruff and sends an anticipatory thrill down his spine. He squats down and examines him closely, the way a darker mask paints over the pointed muzzle and how his haunches are brindled with scars. The stranger holds his gaze as much as he is able, even though the angle must have been excruciating to maintain.

“Look at you, all skin and bones. Who let you out all by your lonesome?”

‘No one’

He yanks on the chain attached to the stranger’s leg. The other shifter lets out a pained howl before lunging forward, snapping his jaws a scant millimeter away from Jim’s face. Jim laughs as the stranger puffs over his cheeks, amused at the reaction he elicited.

“Wrong. You’re trespassing Bonsey, something you’d have known if you were paying attention. You’re alone out here aren’t you? No way Frank would have taken a shot at you if you weren’t.” he pauses, weighing the words in his mind. “No pack would let something pretty like you free.”

‘That’s a helluva assumption to make.’

“That’s me.” Jim agrees cheerfully. “Thoughtful. Considerate. Anyone else would have turned you over to the authorities by now. Of course, ‘round here they really don’t like shifters. They drown pups for sport you know?”

The shifter licks his lips nervously, his forehead wrinkled.

‘What do you want?’

“The word is that you’ve been eating our corn and stealing our chickens. Time to pay us back don’t you think?” Jim holds out a collar, woven with silver strings. It is designed specifically to prevent shifters from switching between their forms. The stranger goes wide-eyed in recognition and tries to pull away, the chains dragging and mangling his leg further. He trembles and shakes his head, baring his teeth in a way all wild animals do when wounded and hurt.

‘Wait, no, anything but this. I’m not putting that on.’

“Beggers don’t get to be choosers Bones. It’s either this or whatever it is that you’re running from.” The blond sneers, flicking the lock open and holding it out in one hand.

‘You don’t trust me?’ The wolf taunts, a last-ditch effort at freedom.

“I never trust a pretty face.”

++

When they get home, Jim tears Frank from ear to ear. The man flounders, holding his face together over a fetid-looking couch when Bones barks in warning and noses the older shifter to take a better look. Training in field medicine—Jim thinks as he kicks his boots off in the corner.

Like a good omega, Frank looks resigned and meekly pushes Bones away. His newest pack mate, with far better manners than Jim, looks ashamed that he has tracked mud all over the place and rubs his paw off on the floor rug. Frank muffles his laughter and points him towards the bathroom. Bones gives the other shifter an annoyed look before glaring back at him.

‘You didn’t have to do that.’

“He lied.” Jim says simply and Frank cowers, fingering the bits of metal looped around his neck. The cut will scar badly, but no one will dare ask questions as to what he did. In the eyes of the Empire, Frank is expendable—his only saving grace the blood relation to Winona Kirk.

Jim shoos Bones into the showers, earning a glower for his troubles. He has to bathe him five times before the water runs clean. The shifter stoically bears the sting of soap sunds in his open wounds. Jim's inner wolf whines, vibrating beneath his skin, wanting to greet the creature propery and welcome into the fold. Jim resists with a short shake of his head and chains Bones up to the toilet for the night.

“Nighty-night Bones.”

++

“No dogs allowed Kirk.” The barkeep gives them a stink-eye while wiping down the counters. Others give them a lazy glance before swiftly looking away. A few of the girls look up in notable interest, some with an almost predatory gleam in their eyes. Bones mutters—‘I will get you for this’ as he is pulled in through the door.

“Kang my man, you’re hurting my friend’s feelings.”

“Oh I’m sorry.” Kang replies, completely unrepentant. “I didn’t realize. Forgive me, now get out.”

“C’mon” Jim grins, all teeth like a wolf. “He’s housetrained.” He sits on the stool, tracing the line of burns on the replicated wood. “And I’ll owe you one.”

The barkeep throws his rag behind the counter.

“Fine”

“Great, a beer for me and for my newest best friend here please.”

“What am I, you’re wife?” The other man heckles, his expression cloudy. Bones eyes him dubiously as a bowl is set down, bits of peanut shell speckling the edge. Jim raises his mug in cheers before slinking off to shack up with one of the girls.

“Don’t be shy Bones, it’s on me.”

Kang the barkeep gives him a pitying look before laying down an absorbent pad at his feet.

++

Slowly, Jim acclimatizes Bones to his life of sordid decadence. Briefly, it occurs to the bound shifter that maybe all Kirk wants him for is another notch on his bedpost. But Jim’s face lights up as his newest bedmate waggles her eyebrows and asks if his ‘puppy-dog’ is joining in.

‘Dammit Jim, I won’t do it.’

Jim considers this for all of two-point-three seconds.

“He’s fixed.” He says smoothly, pushing her back against the mattress and thrusting deep. She lets out an enlightened ‘oh’, her mouth a perfect circle of heat as he pulls out. Her hips buck wildly, her cunt wide open and needy. He whispers into her ear, “But I can think of something else he can do for you.”

‘Not into bestiality, thanks.’

The wolf-shaped shifter’s face is unreadable but Jim lets his eyes bleed yellow, promising unfathomable rewards for his obedience. Instincts win out as Bones pads closer, radiating discomfort. The blond scratches his ears not unkindly and the other shifter lets out a pleased rumble before catching himself and bristling.

“Give the lady what she wants Bones.”

Candice, Candy, Carol, something that starts with ‘C’ looks apprehensive when she realizes just how large the ‘puppy-dog’ exactly is. Bones, to his credit, hides all of his fangs and starts out slow, licking the inside of her knee. The girl relaxes, giggling as the wolf tongued the silk of her thighs. When Bones sets his paws on the lumpy mattress, she throws her head back in ecstasy and mewls, “ _oh_ , oh, OH!" She gasps, tugging harshly on the pointed ears. "You’re the best Jim!”

Jim rests on his elbows and watches from the side, a hand playing with the fluttering parabola of her ribs. Bones glares at him in disgust, his movements economical and disinterested. Jim smiles, for his eyes only.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

++

They settle into a routine. Jim no longer locks him up in the bathroom and Bones learns a few words other than ‘no’ and ‘dammit Jim’. Sometimes the young shifter is content to lie in the yard while the older keeps watch, fretting about skin cancer and everything else. Other times they wrestle like pups in the woods, crashing into the thistled underbrush and splashing through bubbling streams.

Bones almost forgets about his collar, enthralled with the golden alpha and the sense of belonging. Then he remembers Frank and his face, the blood that will never come out from the cushions and the ache in his shoulder where the bullet passed through. The collar seems to tighten then, the metallurgy choking the oxygen out from his lungs.

He wakes up when Jim flails in his sleep, growling and cursing as he punches the air.

There are rules to every relationship, some more fatal than others. Bones has seen what Jim does to Frank when he is displeased. He has also had the other shifter’s wrath turn his way more than once for no other reason than the fact that he was convenient. But the kid is whimpering and he’s always been a sucker for the young and the defenseless—isn’t that why he is here?

He jumps on the bed and presses down on Jim with his own weight, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself as he struggles awake. What he doesn’t expect is the agonizer the kid hides under his pillow, the one that digs into his chest and makes him wish that he has died.

“Fuck!”

He rolls belly-up in submission, Immediately, Jim drops the agonizer and checks him for any lasting damage. There is none. Panting, Bones licks his fingers and explains himself.

‘You had a nightmare.’

“Are you crazy?!” Jim hisses, old habits dying hard from memories of his mother beating him to an inch of his life for disturbing her sleep. “I could have killed you.” And it startles Jim to realize how much he doesn’t want Bones dead. He shows the wolf the agonizer Winona carelessly gave him for his tenth birthday. Frank had been against it of course, but sat silent waiting for his slice of cake. It is at the highest setting. Bones somehow fails to look impressed.

‘I’m from the Old South kid.’

And Jim _is_ impressed. Leery the south may be of technology but no one could deny their expertise in torture. Even veteran fleet officers had trouble resisting southern courtesy. On occasions, the fleet even used them as guest speakers or as consults whenever a valuable POW was captured.

The other shifter withdraws, thinking that he has said too much. He shakes himself and gets off the bed. ‘Whatever, I’m going to take a leak.’

Jim lies there thinking. He has never once tried to figure out where his wayward pack mate came from, even when Frank offered—multiple times. He is curious, he has always been too curious for his own good, but fears that somehow, when the mystery disintegrates, so will Bones. And if there is one thing he knows for certain, it is that he wants to keep Bones no matter what.

Jim jumps down his window. Predictably, Bones is on him in a second.

‘Dammit Jim, a drop at that height, do you know what could have happened?!’

“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it.”

Jim pulls off his sweatpants and shifts. Somehow, Bones is not surprised to see that the blond goes without underwear.

Jim the wolf is beautiful, sleek and compact and bright like sunlight whereas Bones is built to be tall and lanky. But they match each other pound for pound, every inch of Jim pure muscle. And he knows that alphas never stop growing, especially since Jim has come into his own at such a young age. Jim raises his tail in rapt attention and spanks the ground with his forepaws in a playful bow. Bones visibly rolls his eyes and acquiesces, allowing himself to be herded into the woods where they run together until the sunrise.

++

‘Only good thing about silver and I mean the _only_ good thing, keeps me drunk longer.’

Jim returns after a conversation with the Starfleet captain and a dare to rid himself of his father’s shame. The man presses them with knowing looks as they leave, stirring a sense of unease with his piercing eyes. Bones ignores the hard stare and stands on two legs, washing the younger shifter’s face clean. He is gentle with his tongue, almost as though dealing with a very small cub.

The blond is too distracted to pay this its due attention. He thinks that he deserves it when four cadets ambush them out of nowhere.

Bones cries are horrifying. He yelps when a redshirt strikes him over the head with an iron pipe, the others quickly holding Jim by his armpits, swinging him back and slugging him in the face. Bones limps, a snowy star over his shoulder where a bullet passed through so long ago. With the restraint, he can’t heal as quick, fight or run better than a man. The redshirt pulls out an agonizer and pushes it into his ear, straddling him and driving him into the dirt where he silently writhes.

“Bones!” Jim’s shout is jarring and the shifter lurches forward with a snarl. Redshirt strangles him with the silver collar, the steel pipe digging into the soft corners of his jaw. The wolf gags as they pin Jim on the ground, making promises that they won’t be able to keep. The man seethes in anger, his eyes yellowing. The cadet in a redshirt pulls and twists again, drawing another cry.

Then the collar snaps.

The shifter’s transformation is swift and beautiful, like he’s been waiting for this moment all his life. He twists the cadet’s arm and points the agonizer at his groin, his arm bunching and flexing as he is caught in the aftershock. Redshirt’s screams are shrill and ugly. Bones doesn’t let go until he is little more than a twitching slab of meat.

Stunned, the others stand there as their friend falls over backwards with a low gurgle. The manic fury in the other shifter’s face sends Jim into action. He slips an arm out of the cadet’s grip and slams his elbow in his face. The cadet is sent sprawling, his nose broken and his orbital socket cracked. Terrified, the remaining two begin to run but it is too late. Bones the wolf leaps but doesn’t kill. He cuts their tendons, their buttocks, calves and stomachs; fleshy areas not immediately necessary to sustain life. He snaps their wrists and breaks their fingers one by one, goes a step further on the one who first grabbed Jim by ripping his hand off and renders them useless to the empire.

Jim has never been more turned on. Bones’ eyes are mere slits on his face, the gold mascara making them glow. Eager, he strips off his clothes and melts into his wolf form. But the other shifter is pissed and when he gets close enough to touch, lays his nose wide open. Righteous fury takes over as Bones stares up at him alpha to alpha, his face matted with human blood. He turns tail and runs. Jim instinctively follows.

They lope across the hills, Jim slashing at the other with tooth and claw until his paler underbelly runs dark with blood. Bones pivots just before the line of woods and shifts; Jim pounces and bites down on the arm offered, his feet digging into all too fragile human skin.

They roll on the ground, breaking stalks of leftover corn. Bones jabs an elbow into Jim’s throat and flips them over. They tumble into the trees and Jim lands back on top, happy and gloriously naked.

“Thought you weren’t into bestiality”

“Fuck kid, you’re as hard as I am.”

“Not a kid Bones.”

“McCoy,” Bones rasps, dragging his nails through Jim’s hair. They roll again, their bodies hot and slick, smelling of musk, sex, want and need, yet unwilling to yield to the other. “My name is Leonard McCoy. Not Bones, not hey you, not...” The blond quickly shuts him up with a creative use of his teeth and a flick of his thumb.

“Anyone tell you, you talk too much?”

The newly christened McCoy stifles a groan, his neck stretching invitingly. Jim bites the broken patch of skin below the man’s jaw, the tang of silver dragging on his tongue. He touches McCoy with a certain reverence, hating himself for even thinking of sharing. He devours the other man’s mouth and in a moment of weakness, begs—“Let me be your alpha.”

Bones—McCoy blinks in astonishment and laughs. He raises his legs and wraps them around Jim’s waist; ankles crossed and mouth close to his ear as though sharing a secret.

“No one _lets_ you become an alpha.” He hisses, folding easily beneath him like a game of cards. “You just take it.” Jim growls and sinks his teeth in McCoy’s shoulder, teasing the salt and iron out of his skin as it splits open and scabs over with his canines buried deep. He smears blood down their chests, indifferent or uncaring of the other’s token protests. He gives McCoy a few strokes to keep him interested and scissors him open, entering him with a hard shove.

“ _Shit_ ” McCoy sobs, a tighter clutch than any cunt. Jim’s hips stutter in answer, his thrusts delving deeper and deeper into the welcoming hole, balanced on the knife edge of pleasure and pain. He leans over, elbows on either side of the other man’s head, a shift in angle allowing him better leverage. He breathes in the musk of his second’s scent, his eyes blown open wide and staring gold on amber until finally, McCoy turns away and comes without a single finger on his dick.

Jim collapses soon after. McCoy grunts at the weight but doesn’t seem to mind, their wolves sated and happy after reaffirming their bonds.

“Marked you first” Jim says suddenly, his voice raw and oddly vulnerable.

“That’s not something you brag about kid.” The older shifter snorts, subdued at the sound of his own voice, faint and whispery from disuse.

“We’ll work on that.” Jim promises, licking a wet stripe down the still-tender throat. “Bet you’re a screamer.”

++

The next morning, they board a shuttle.

No one gives them shit about the extra three seats.


End file.
